Running
by Pixie Child
Summary: Faith is always running from something. Faith POV.


Running AUTHOR: Dark Will (screwin_evil@hotmail.com)  
  
RATING: R for Charter death, language, mentions of sex, sexual harassment and drugs.  
  
SYNOPSIS: Faith is always running from something.  
  
DISCLAIMER: Don't known anything in BtVS. There, are you happy now, Joss, you dream crusher?  
  
MAIN CHARTER: Faith  
  
PAIRING: Slight B/F  
  
FEEDBACK: YES YES YES!  
  
AUTHOR'S NOTE: Contains charter death. Big surprise, considering that it's mine.  
  
I'm running again. Hell, it feels like everywhere I go there's trouble. It doesn't help that I always shoot my mouth off. Again, I've had to leave everything behind. But don't go feeling sorry for me, because you can't miss what you never had, and I ain't had much.  
  
So I pull into this frigging town and head for the 'The Fish Tank'. I heard about it in the last town, and I aint disappointed. This place is like a harbor for anyone with a fake ID, I can see someone inside who can't be over 15. When the bouncer asks to see mine, he don't even look at it, because he just does it for formality. So that way the cops can't shut the place down. The place reeks of beer and BO. I'd be surprised if more then half the people in this place bath more then once a year. And I ain't surprised when some SOB grabs my ass, either. It's why I learned how to defend my self. Guys are pigs. And I'm not cynical, just smart. I've gotta live in this world, not on the little cloud of preppy-ness where the people on the other side live. I whirl around and there is this 300lb tub sitting there, grinning like he expects me to give him a lap-dance or something. He orders himself a beer, and one for 'the hot chick sittin next to me'. His hand wanders onto my leg closest to him, and I grab his wrist and tell him not on his life. He tries to get rough, so I elbow him in the face then knee him in the jewels. I smile at the drunk and tell him if he ever tries that again, he is dead, so lardo get up, muttering that I'm too young for him anyway. That's a laugh. The woman he's eyeing now is in her thirty's and SHE has got to be too old for him.  
  
I'm dancing with a blond hottie and he offers to buy me a beer. I shrug, I still wanna dance but if he wants to take a break, that's okay to. When I'm done my drink, I jump up and head toward the dance floor again. Blondie grabs my wrist and roles his eyes suggestively.  
  
"If you're a good boy" I tell him, pulling him up beside me, and drag him over to do some more dancing.  
  
I can tell he wants me to go home with him, and I got no prob with that, but I'm so wired and boozed-up, that I wanna stay for a little while longer. So I ignore the looks he's giving me for 'bout an hour, then take his wrist and drag him toward the door. He just grins like he knew this was gonna happen and follows me. Like I said, all men are sick. Don't care if they say they love you, or even if they believe it. Pigs. All of 'em.  
  
*God, what a hangover!* I look at the guy lying beside me, grin and swing my legs over the side of the bed. Now comes the next challenge, to find my clothing.  
  
Once I'm dressed, I head for the door. Before I leave, I take a look around. Posters of comic women wearing practically nothing, (but more then when I woke up) are hanging from the walls. Other then that, the room is empty, save for the bed and my 'date' from last night still sleeping in it.  
  
Once I'm outta there, I run to my crappy hole I'm calling home for now. It isn't much better, but at least it has a shitty little black and white TV. It doesn't have cable, but at least its something for me to do, other then guys, while I'm here, which, hopefully, won't be that long.  
  
I take a shower in the lukewarm water, which is as hot as the friggin' landlord will let the water get, got to bed stark nude, and go to sleep. Normally I'd change into a tank and boxers, but I'll just change in the morning anyways, so what's the point?  
  
When I wake up, I look around the room, confused. Then I remember the last three years. My eyes start to water, but I will them to stop. I've got a new life now, and I couldn't go back, even if I wanted to.  
  
I left home when I was 14, because my mother married a rich bastard who jumped into my bed every chance he got. When I told my teacher why I couldn't do gym, she told the cops and they interviewed my mom. The whore I called mother told them I had an over-active imagination and Bill would never do that. They believed her and left. Then the bitch started to yell at me for almost landing her beloved hubby in jail. All she cared about was his money. That night I grabbed the cash in her purse and took off. I swore I would never go back, and I never will. Left three years ago, and here I am.  
  
But DON'T go feeling sorry for me. I like the freedom. It's just once in a while I forget myself, is all.  
  
Its 1:00 AM and I'm walking home from this town's lovely bar after a few drinks. ALONE. I didn't feel like being picked up tonight. Never do, after remembering life before now. Come to think of it, never feel like much after ever using my brain. Remembering or just plain thinking.  
  
I can hear footsteps behind me, so I stop. They stop with mine. When I start up again, I can hear them fall into sync with mine. I turn around and there are 2 guys, no, vamps, standing there. One has a knife in hand; the other is reaching for a bulge in his jacket pocket. I take a step back and try to act really feeble and girly, which is near impossible in a black tank, leather pants and heavy eyeliner. But they buy it anyway. The people in this town are really easy to trick. The one with the knife advances on me, grinning like an idiot. I snarl when he gets within reach and lunge. I hear a gun go off and I look behind Knifey. His partner has a 32-caliber pistol, and has it aimed at my head. I drop Knifey, turn and run.  
  
I've been running for what feels like forever. My feet hurt like hell and my legs feel like they are going to drop off. Leather pants and high boots where NOT meant for running for your life in.  
  
I run into an ally that turns out to be a dead end. I turn around, realize they are right behind me and drop into a fighting stand. If I'm gonna, I might as well go out fighting. Do some damage to the bastard who have me feeling like a scared rabbet. But I'd rather die then let them know it. Probably will anyways, but who cares? Isn't like I was a saint.  
  
I wink at Knifey and he takes a step back. But it doesn't intimidate gun- guy. He raises the 32 and fires, hitting me in the right shoulder. I hiss through clenched teeth. It hurts like fuck, but I ain't gonna give them the satisfaction of knowing it.  
  
My face must give it away, though, because he laughs and stairs at me with cold blue eyes.  
  
He's stoned, I can tell that much. *Can vampires even _be_ stoned?* I ask myself, then laugh out loud *Duh. He is still human.* I think, then, snort in laughter. He isn't human, he's a demon.  
  
"What the hell are you laughing at, bitch?!?" Demands gun-guy.  
  
"You" I tell him. Making him even angrier. Pissing him off can't do much harm now.  
  
He fires again, this time getting me in the left shoulder blade. I just glare at him as he walks forward. He spits on me and presses the gun to my head.  
  
"If it makes you feel better," He informs me, under my left eye itching, with the place where his saliva landed. "You lasted longer then the last one" and he fires. Last thing I see is Him laughing, my vision going red, my blood, I realize, and I am outta there. Permanently. 


End file.
